


Cymothoa Exigua

by Wecanhaveallthree



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wecanhaveallthree/pseuds/Wecanhaveallthree
Summary: Tear out the tongues of these talking heads.
Kudos: 12





	Cymothoa Exigua

It’s a shame, isn’t it?

You spent so much time scrabbling in the dust and ruin of the Collapse, your bloodied fingers reaching back for an age you can barely imagine, let alone recall. You look at the miserable marvels of your City and know, in that deep and defeating way, that they are nothing compared to what came before. That glinting promise of revelation kept you on better than any whip. That distant spark of hope. If only you could recapture a sliver of that majestic science. You could change the world.

But it was fool’s gold after all. A clever little monster named Bray put his ear to the echoing emptiness and heard what it had to say. One by one, he fed his family to those wondrous machines. Every miracle of your Golden Age bears his bloody fingerprints on their heart-code. He applied the logic with enthusiasm. An army of bound servants, each tithing their labour up the tiers to an undying god-king.

Stop me if this is starting to sound familiar.

Bray is a little grub who wormed their way into derivative immortality. I applaud his creativity. I appreciate the bind he has you in. I’d encourage you to see his strength, for it is the same as that of your nemeses.

All schemes and ploys serve the Witch Queen - your cunning, your intelligence, your forward-thinking. Battle against Xivu Arath is similarly impossible: the strength of your sword-arm will become hers, your might and resolve. And should you seek to raise up the great technologies of your civilisation, those Light-poisoned gifts, you will surrender everything to Bray.

Is there any way out?

Permit me the pleasure of a parable.

On Riis, they erected temples to the Great Machine. Sweeping architecture, fluted pillars, and so on. They lived in peace and prosperity under the Light. Traders came from the far reaches of their empire with treasures and curiosities. On one of these beautiful ships came an adorable little scamp of a creature. A mascot of sorts. Truly, the crew didn’t believe it would survive the journey home, but the creature was tenacious. It held on.

More than that, it thrived on this world of gentle life. It multiplied. What a pleasant surprise! And for a time, these creatures were the want of every child. The multiplication was permitted to continue. Why not, after all? All troubles were gone, all needs met.

After a time, the fervour faded as it always does, and the creatures were no longer the star of the day. Many were simply let go - nature was assumed to take its course. And so it did.

These clever little creatures soon found their way into the majestic temples, edifices of worship. They chewed and burrowed and dug their way to survival. Impossible to truly eradicate, they remained an endless battle for the custodians right until the Whirlwind. Imagine the tear-streaked faces of the priests and archons as all their strength, all their knowledge fails to keep their hallways clear of alien defecation or protect their holy texts from tiny little teeth.

Tenacity is a virtue. Not the unearned slaving of the Sky, but the cutthroat scars of the Deep - always looking for a way to go on. Always striving, always changing.

Your opponents have made temples of themselves. Institutions. So sure. So secure.

They have forgotten that at the heart of each is an honest little worm, eating away.


End file.
